The Forbidden Wish(8)

“I don’t know. But you’ll find out soon enough, I think. Will you wish this Darian dead?”

“He deserves it,” Aladdin whispers.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go on, Master. Say the words. Wish a man’s life away.”

He averts his gaze. “You don’t have to put it like that.”

“Isn’t it the truth?” I stand up and walk to the top of the dune, sending a river of sand running down the side. Aladdin, panicking, gestures for me to get down.

So he wants to make a death wish, does he? Wants me to do his dirty work, taking out his enemies while he sits in the shadows? Not if I have anything to say about it. I stand in full view of the camp below and say loudly, “Here we are, Aladdin. Now is your chance. Say the words—it isn’t hard. I wish, I wish . . .”

“Zahra! Get down!”

But it’s too late. I’ve been seen. The men below start shouting, and their steel sings as they pull it from their sheaths. They call for me to stop.

Aladdin hurries to the top of the dune, bundling his cloak under one arm so that it doesn’t tangle his legs. With his other hand he pulls the lamp from his belt.

“You insane creature!” He skids to a halt, cursing at the sight of the men as they hastily mount their horses. “And to think I was starting to like you!”

I sweep a hand through the air. “There he is. Your mortal enemy! So go on. Make the wish!”

“I—” He meets my eyes, his face drained of color.

“What are you waiting for?”

Below us, the men turn their horses toward us. They’re led by the prince, who’s wielding a curving scimitar.

“Aladdin. They’re nearly on us! You’d better make up your mind!”

He looks from the soldiers to me, his mouth open but no wish on his tongue. Ignoring the men galloping toward us, I seize Aladdin’s cloak and pull him close. His panicked gaze locks with mine.

“Decide,” I say. “Decide now. What kind of man are you? Are you really the sort who wishes death on his enemies from the shadows?”

“I wish . . .” He stops, licks his lower lip.

“Zahra, get down!”

Aladdin throws himself across me, and an arrow that had been speeding toward my heart strikes him in the shoulder. With a cry he falls, sliding down the dune, and the lamp tumbles from his grasp.

In an instant, I lose control of my body. My flesh turns to smoke, and I am sucked through the air, pulled into the lamp’s spout, and dumped at the bottom. There I swirl around and around, scarlet smoke, throwing my sixth sense as far and wide as I can.

My lamp has rolled to the bottom of the dune, near Aladdin. He scrambles toward me, and I feel the pain of his shoulder radiating from him in hot, angry spikes. But before he can reach me, they are upon us. With a pounding of hooves the riders swarm around us, their camels heaving and blowing foam. They are all indistinct shapes hovering around me, sensed rather than seen, as I push myself to my limits to follow the events as they rapidly unfold.

The riders circle us and shout over one another excitedly, maintaining a small distance from the lamp and herding Aladdin away from it. He curses them, and I sense him swaying with pain from his wounded shoulder.

“Silence!” thunders a voice.

The men halt their camels and fall quiet as one of the riders dismounts. I cannot sense his appearance, but I feel the vibration of his steps. When he speaks, his voice is young and melodic. “I will give you this, scum. You are slippery as a shadow. I might even offer you a job if I weren’t about to cut your throat.”

“Darian.” Aladdin’s tone is strained, but mockingly civil. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

“That’s Prince Darian, thief.”

“What did your father say when he found out I stole your precious magic ring? Right off your finger as you slept! Hey, boys, did you know your prince snores like an old woman?”

Even through my bronze walls I can hear the loud smack as Darian backhands Aladdin, throwing him to the ground. I feel a surge of heat as my lamp is lifted from the sand. Curious fingers explore the bronze surface, tracing the sensual curve of the long tapered spout.

Darian sniffs, and his fingers tighten around the lamp. His pulse hammers at me, echoing through the small space. I huddle against the wall and press my hands over my ears. “For something so powerful and priceless, it’s quite an ugly thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s worthless,” says Aladdin. “Just an empty relic.”

“For all the good it did you, it might as well be. Let’s see . . . The stories always said . . .” He begins to rub the lamp, and as easily as exhaling I shift to smoke and stream out for the second time this night. My new master lets out a long, appreciative sigh as I swirl into the air, a muted display compared to my first one for Aladdin. I am a little disappointed in the boy of the streets for losing me so quickly.